


slowly slowly, my heart turns to iron

by amelioratedays



Category: GOT7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 01:25:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10061693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amelioratedays/pseuds/amelioratedays
Summary: Written for the 7fics prompt where Jinyoung is the grim reaper and Jackson's an athlete who's slowly losing function in his brain after an accident.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I’m honestly so sorry I’m a writer whose fics should only exist in theory and not in execution. ;-; This didn’t turn out as angsty and detailed as the prompt was but that’s bc i’m trash and half my inspo comes from Unimedia’s webdramas. Terminology might get a bit weird because I’m not referencing Hellenistic mythology. Unbeta-ed

Time doesn’t pass in the underworld; or rather, there’s no method of keeping track. (But then again, there doesn’t seem to be a need to keep track either.) The sun never does rise, nor will the plants bud and wither. It’s an eternal dusk that spreads hazily above their heads. Jinyoung doesn’t quite remember how long he’s been here. Neither does he recall how long has it been since he’s been appointed to be a psychopomp. But he figures that it’s better than spending all of his time beneath the soiled grounds. At least he gets to travel between the worlds of life and death—gets to see the sun rise and fall, watch those who are still alive go through their everyday lives. And it’s the juxtaposition between the bustling life of the world above and the remote barrenness of the world below that reminds Jinyoung of how he was once alive.

 

He doesn’t have a clear recollection of it though, being one of those who’ve drunk Lady Meng’s soup yet failed to cross the bridge into the next life. Something is keeping him back, Jaebum had told him once. Though he isn’t sure whether it was resent or regret that has carried on from the days that he was living. Sometimes when he thinks too much about it, there’s a sense of foreignness that settles underneath his skin. _Something_ about having been alive, yet not being able to remember how exactly living felt like leaves him perturbed. Was he still _him_ if he had no memories of what he once was? What was he waiting for then? And what if he never does recall it in the end?

 

It’s amidst these thoughts that Jaebum finds him, royal pendant in hand as he relays orders from above. “The underworld isn’t a place for freeloaders,” the older spirit had said, “If you’re not going into purgatory nor the afterlife, then you’re going to have to work. The living don’t burn so much paper money for taxes to go to waste.”

 

And so, Jinyoung finds himself with a list of names and dates and a similar jade pendant at his hands. How long ago was that exactly?Jinyoung doesn’t know either; though, as he watches as the world above turn from dynasties to republics—he finds that he doesn’t really care. The days go on, in a seemingly endless loop. People pass away, people are born—his job continues. He never does remember what it is that stops him from crossing the Naihe Bridge.

 

 

 

 

“This one’s for you.” Jaebum tells him, tossing a file over from across the room. “Lord Yan said to make sure you take up this case.” He adds when Jinyoung looks at him in confusion. “Why?” He inquires, flipping through the pages in the file.

 

_Jackson Wang._

 

The name sits at the top of the file. Jinyoung takes a glance at the date—June 26th. He’s got three months time before time’s up, a gap settling between earlier members on his list. He gives a questioning look at Jaebum, who only smiles at him meekly. “This one is…” The older male searches for the right word, “...special.” There’s a glint in his eyes that don’t settle well with Jinyoung, but no matter how much he presses, Jaebum refuses to give him any specific details. “Take your time with this one,” Jaebum tells him at last before melding into the shadows and disappearing from sight.

 

Jinyoung glances up at the empty spot where Jaebum once was, a small frown settling on his face. Something, he tells himself, isn’t right. Though he isn’t sure just what it was—yet.

 

 

 

 

 

The first time Jinyoung sees Jackson is a Thursday afternoon, where the sunlight filtering through the window panes shower the white patient ward in golden hues. Perhaps it’s the calmness that lingers in the air that makes him lament, or maybe it was the sight of the tiny buds adorning the winter barren trees. But Jinyoung takes a look at the sleeping boy and can’t help but think, _Spring is coming. All is reborn; but you are wilting away._

 

 _At least_ , he sighs, _your death would be peaceful_. He takes a look through the other’s file, flipping through the pages halfheartedly before settling into the seat by the bed. He takes a look at the other male, watching as the sunlight slowly settles into the fine lines of his skin. The thoughts of Fleeting Youth briefly crosses his mind, where the buds have barely blossomed before its petals are already falling to the grounds below. Jinyoung thinks about himself, ponders upon the flower he was before he was placed beneath the soiled grounds. _At least,_ he looks at the sleeping figure, _you’ll be reborn with the coming spring._ He remembers the iron gates of the world below. _When will I pass through them, he wonders_. Perhaps soon, perhaps never.

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson is awake the next time Jinyoung visits him. He takes a look at the other before settling into the same old chair next to the bed. There’s a new plant on the dresser, daisies in full bloom. The vibrance of it seems blinding, the only dash of colour within the white ward. He looks at the boy in front of him, watching as the other stares at the phone in his hands. Jinyoung hovers over the other, a shadowless figure looming above as he takes a closer look at what was on the screen.

 

Photos.

 

He takes a glance at the brunette male before looking back at the phone. “You’re an athlete?” He asks despite knowing there won’t be a response. Though Jinyoung’s talking more to himself than the other male. He thinks back to the other’s record, trying to remember the other’s reason of hospitalization. He scrunches his forehead in thought. _What was it?_ He wonders. _Ah, that’s right. Car accident._

 

“That’s unfortunate,” he mutters with a sigh. Jinyoung glances up to the other’s figure, the wheelchair across the room entering his peripheral vision. He recalls the black numbers upon the other’s file, a simple twenty-two under the age of death. A feeling of suffocation seeps into his lungs, though Jinyoung knows well enough that he doesn’t need to breathe. _Don’t get hung up over this_ , he tells himself. _You’ve seen worse_.

 

He takes in a deep breath of air, letting it enter his lungs and settle within. He doesn’t let it back out, wanting the weight of it to replace the emptiness of before. Jinyoung looks away from the other boy, avoiding the look of sadness that seems to well out of the other’s irises. He gives a small wave, robes fluttering with his movements as he morphs into the whiteness of the walls, seeping into the shadows of hell.

 

 _What are you escaping from?_ He asks himself.

 

 

 

 

 

The smile doesn’t reach his eyes, he can’t help but notice. Jinyoung sits on the windowsill this time, watching as the people in front of him play a courteous game of avoiding the white elephant in the room. There’s occasional banter and jokes that dissolve into afterthoughts and sudden silence, sympathetic gazes and apologetic smiles. The brunette male seems smaller than ever, seated in the middle as those around him stand. “How’s practice?” He hears him ask once again. It’s the same conversation every time. The same questions, the same answers. Same old, same old-- just without you. Jinyoung fiddles with his pendant aimlessly, turning it over and over under the sunlight.

 

Lunchtime comes along when the shadows tilt northwest, sunlight turning a faded orange. “We brought your favourite today,” one of Jackson’s friends says. Jinyoung doesn’t fail to catch the faltering smile on Jackson’s face, turning to his side to fully face the group in the room. _Keep your distance,_ he reminds himself. The jade of his pendant seems to burn into his hand, characters etched into his palm. _Don’t_ , Jinyoung tells himself as he closes his eyes trying to clear his thoughts.

 

He’s crossing the boundaries, trespassing into forbidden territory. Jinyoung looks at the boy in front of him, stepping forward to hold his trembling hand. _Just this once,_ he thinks. _Just one time._ Jinyoung stables the other’s grip, guiding the spoon to the other’s mouth. He pretends to ignore the tensing of the other boy, pretends not to hear the relief in the other’s words. Jackson leans back in his hold, enwrapped by shadows as he eats without shaking hands the first time in a while.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _“Maybe angels do exist,”_ Jackson says to thin air that one night. The words burn into Jinyoung’s soul, claws underneath his skin. He looks at the smiling boy in the empty room with red eyes that remind him too much of blood. _Maybe angels do exist_ , Jinyoung replies back, empty soundwaves to the human ear.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s when Jackson waters the flowers for the third time one morning that someone finally notices. “Jia Er?” His mother calls for him, taking the glass from his hold. There’s the foreboding of fear that Jinyoung sees in her eyes, as if the pillars of her life were slowly crashing one by one. He turns away, not wanting to linger at the overwhelming gloom that shadows the room. “What’s wrong?” He listens to Jackson ask in just about the most innocent way.

 

“ _What’s wrong?_ ” He asks himself as well. “ _Nothing,”_ he reassures. This was but the course of life, a loose thread slowly unraveling to the very last patch of fabric. He listens to the sound of Jackson’s mother’s weeping at the end of the corridor while he walks towards the dresser table. The overwatered flowers stand still in time, water seeping through its roots— _it won’t be long until they die_ , he thinks.

 

Wind travels from the open window, bringing movement to the stagnant room. The pages of the hanging calendar flutter slightly. Time is ticking, the road is ending. Jinyoung closes his eyes for a long while, reopening them only when the thundering beneath his thoughts settle into a low muffle. Jackson is still there in the room, still looking out at the open door.

 

It’s half past four when his mom reenters the room, eyes swollen from grief and hands trembling. “It’s okay, you’ll get better.” She tells him quietly. “The heavens won’t abandon us.”

 

 

 

 

 

“The finals are today,” Jackson says aloud after breakfast. _“Two days ago,”_ Jinyoung corrects though Jackson can’t hear him.

 

“I’m sure we’re going to win.”

 

_“The game tied.”_

 

“Where’d I leave my book?”

 

_“The second drawer in the dresser.”_

 

Jinyoung dangles his legs in midair as he sits atop the fluorescent lights, staring down at the boy below. He gives a wave of his robes, watching the dust disappear from the surface of the lighting piece. He gives a peer to Jackson, sitting quietly in the ward bed below, flipping through the pages of his book. _“You read this book everyday,”_ he comments. _“You read it everyday and flip back to the beginning because you don’t remember.”_

 

He thinks vaguely of the story of the girl and the ivy vine, the last leaf in the bitter winter. Perhaps, he muses, if Jackson never does reach the end of the book, the end would never come. _“Foolish,”_ he tells himself, propping himself upright and settling down in front of Jackson. He peers with kohl eyes at the human boy, reaching out to pass through the other’s overgrown bangs. _“Hopeful,”_ he tells himself.

 

 

 

 

 

The first time Jackson forgets someone is a rainy day, where the sound of rain and thunder fill the streets below. Mark stands on the side, hands at loss as Jackson asks for the second time, “Do I...know you?” This time around, it comes out a lot more cautious than the first. Jinyoung pulls petals off imaginary flowers, dropping them into the shadows. There’s something about Jackson’s eyes—too bright, too naive—that seems to conjure sorrow from those around him. Where everyone seemingly steps around the elephant in the room, quietly counting down to the endpoint beneath faltering smiles.

 

It’s at times like these where Jackson is the one comforting others, breaking silences with soft reassurance and empty promises. It’s at times like these that Jinyoung looks at the sand falling down the hourglass and remembers that they’re running out of time. Someone like Jackson doesn’t deserve this, where the road ahead is still so vast and beautiful. The other’s still a blooming bud, roots pulled out of the soil before he’s fully reached his best moments in life.

 

“All good things come to an end,” he tells Jaebum while waving his hands through the fire of the candle.

 

“That’s the wheel of fate,” the other responds, “we can only follow through with it.” Jinyoung doesn’t respond, giving a small scoff as he tries to grab onto the wisp of light. The flame extinguishes in his hand, smoke dissipating into the cold air. “Jinyoung,” the other male calls, voice lowering and red eyes gleaming in the dim room. “It’s time for you to move on too.”

 

“To what?” He asks. “From what?” He bemuses, splaying his arms out on the wooden table and resting his head on them as Jaebum only shakes his head disapprovingly.

 

 

 

 

 

There’s something that Jinyoung’s forgotten, memories that’s faded with too much time, covered in grey dust of millennials ago. It sits silently in the bottom of his thoughts, an emptiness that hits him occasionally when he tries to reminisce about the golden past. “You’re forgetting stuff,” he tells Jackson. The younger male animatedly talking to his (ex) teammates despite the fatigue that hangs underneath his eyes. “It’s okay,” he reassures, “I’ve forgotten stuff too.”

 

“At least you’ll move on,” he says, “walk past the gates and find yourself anew.” Jinyoung gives a small sigh, “All I go home to is another eternity underneath the soiled grounds, listening to the muffled screams of all eighteen levels at once.”

 

“Joy.” He mutters, a frown forming on his face at the thought.

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes Jackson is fine, sometimes he isn’t. Sometimes he remembers those who visit him, sometimes he forgets. Though those who come to visit come less and less. Jinyoung tries not to dwell on it too much, shrugging it off as he continues to have one sided conversations with the younger boy. Time continues to flow, ticking down to detonation with every second. The world seems to be wilting away as well, leaves falling off almost barren branches as the early snow covers everything in blankets of white. Everything slows down to a calming speed as nature prepares for it’s annual rest.

 

The winter wind billows, snow falling off the trees and onto the grounds below. Jinyoung flips idly through the book that Jackson’s been reading and re-reading. The said boy sleeping quietly underneath the new blankets they brought him for the winter. He wonders what he dreams of, and whether the world in his mind is much more vibrant than his reality. Maybe, he thinks. Perhaps that’s why Jackson would rather stay in his dreams, falling asleep more and more often as the days grow shorter and shorter.

 

 _“It’s okay to rest if you’re tired,”_ his mother had told him. _“Sleep is only to recharge for the next time you wake.”_ She had said though they all know that ‘next time’ may never really be a ‘next time.’ Jinyoung glances at the sleeping figure, taking deep breaths as the air under the oxygen mask condenses and vaporizes. The beeping of the heart rate monitor sounds in offbeats to the clock, a small harmony on its own.

 

 _Time ticks on,_ Jinyoung thinks, turning over another page of the book. The green graph on the monitor screen rises and declines in all the ups and downs of life that they’ve yet to encounter. Jinyoung reaches up to run across the scar around his neck, feeling the uneven skin underneath his fingertips. Blurred memories surface in his thoughts, as he remembers palace walls and jade seals. Crimson stains the execution ground in kaleidoscopic ways. He looks up at the veiled figures in front of his sight, trying to focus his vision but failing. A voice sounds in the back of his head. “I can’t die yet,” he echoes. But why? Why couldn’t he die yet? But wasn’t he already dead?

 

 _“It’s time to move on,”_ Jaebum had told him. But from what? What was holding him back? What was it that he had forgotten, what was it that he had left undone? He doesn’t know.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson doesn’t deserve to die—not now, not him. There’s so much left undone, so much left unexplored in the years after. So why? Why were the heavens always ending everything worthwhile like so? He questions—he resents—but he more than knows that there’s nothing that can stop him from doing so. The calendar on the wall slowly marks down to the endpoint. “Are you afraid of dying?” He whispers even though those who can hear him are those who are no longer there.

 

“You’re holding onto too much,” Jaebum’s voice sounds from behind him. The air turns a stale blue, lack of warmth (of life) that seemingly covers everything in veils of grey. “Onto what?” He questions though Jaebum doesn’t answer. “It’s over,” Jaebum tells him. “Once it’s over, it’s over.” He says.

 

There’s a part of him that doesn’t want to understand, and Jinyoung only avoids the other’s gaze, turning to look at the barren branches outside the frosted window. “Is this why he gave the case to me?” He questions, trying to appear calm though his faltering voice betrays him. ”Not everyone lives until the very end, Jinyoung. And not everyone lives out their ultimate purpose. It’s time to let go.” Jaebum says.

 

And it isn’t until the other has left and the room has finally returned to its usual warmth that Jinyoung unfolds his fist, reaching up with trembling hands to glide against the rigid wound that encircles his neck. There’s a burn in his eyes, warmth that scalds him as the tears finally fall down his cheeks.

 

 

 

 

 

_“Jia Er!” He shouts amidst the chaos of the battlefield, abruptly pulling the rein as he halts to a stop. “Jia Er!” He calls again, searching around for the armour clad figure. The royal flag stands alone, red emblem mixing with the red that pools beneath their feet. “You can’t die,” Zhen Rong mutters under his breath, “You promised me.”_

 

_The distant rhythm of the military drums beat in unison with his heartbeat, muffling the sounds around him. They’re fighting a losing battle, heated blood and dreams lost within the royal courts and veiled rulers. It’s a sea of red, the setting sun dousing everything into shades of crimson._

 

 

 

 

 

_“I can’t die yet,” he tells himself when the coldness of the blade falls upon his neck. “I have to find him.”_

 

 

 

 

 

It’s nearing the end of winter, plants sprouting underneath the snow covered groups. All the world’s reawakening, and Jackson finally falls into his dreams forever. “Are you afraid of dying?” He asks Jackson as the graph slowly flattens to a straight line, a toned pitch resonating within the room. Though it’s much later that Jackson responds to his question with, “It’s something that I knew was coming.”

 

His parents sit by the bed, tears welling in his father’s eyes as his mother’s sobs echo in the small room. Jinyoung watches as Jackson bids his farewells, trying to hug them with non-physical touches. The younger male follows behind him slowly, traveling through the twists and turns of the underworld. “What’s your name?” He asks, soft smile contrasting the coldness around them.

 

“Jinyoung.”

 

“Have you always been here?”

 

“ _Here?”_

 

“With me,” he clarifies. “Sometimes I think there’s someone there with me—looking over me so that I’m not too alone.”

 

There’s a muted pain that gathers in his chest, a soft numbing that overcomes him. “Yeah,” he finally lets out shakily with a small smile. Jinyoung catches the sight of Jaebum out of the corner of his eye, “I was here this time around.”

 

Jackson gives him a fuller smile, eyes upturning, “Then I guess you could count as a guardian angel. You look more like an angel than a death god.” He looks up in confusion, “Aren’t death gods supposed to be scary and monster-like?” Jackson gives a bad impression of one, hunching his back and making a contorted expression.

 

“What gave you that idea?”

 

“Death Note.”

 

“....”

 

 

 

 

 

”Any regrets?” Jinyoung asks hesitantly when they part ways at the bridge. The crowd of spirits hovering by as they wait to cross one by one. “Plenty,” Jackson says grimly before running a hand through his hair awkwardly. “But then again, I guess regrets in life make the next life worthwhile.”

 

“Perhaps,” Jinyoung says, eyes casting down. The flames of the fire wavers, shadows dancing upon the stone walls. Jinyoung gives Jackson a small smile before whispering his farewell, cloak melding into the darkness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jaebum gives the document a stamp, tossing it into the stack with the other folders. “You hear that? Regrets are to make the next life _worthwhile_.” Jinyoung gives him a scowl, “When was overhearing a part of your hobbies?” The raven haired male only shrugs. “They say that fate transcends three lives of reincarnation.”

 

“Perhaps,”

 

“So are you ready to be fired or resign before you’re officially fired?”

 

“Fired so you can now compensate me my salary.”

 

“You can’t even use this money in the next life!” Jaebum shouts.

 

“Then save it up for my next, next afterlife.” Jinyoung pans, silk robes fluttering behind him as he turns around.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone of you watch Unimedia you should hmu :^)))))


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